


blank space

by YukinaMika



Series: 2020 [53]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, F/M, Maribat Secret Santa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:14:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27710522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YukinaMika/pseuds/YukinaMika
Summary: Neither Damian or Marinette has a name on their wrist.
Relationships: Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug/Damian Wayne
Series: 2020 [53]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1593016
Comments: 19
Kudos: 214





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**Author's Note:**

  * For [MiraculousPenta](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MiraculousPenta/gifts).



> Happy holidays!

There are those who are born with a name on their wrist – a partner that fate has chosen for them. And then, there are those whose wrists hold no such thing – a blank canvas without the flowy strokes that spell the name of their destined half.

With more than ninety percent of Earth’s population with a name of their wrist, those who possesses none are deemed as outliers.

* * *

No al Ghul ever has something resembling a name on their wrist. For generations, there is nothing but unblemished skin on the wrist of new born babes – not even a lightest trace of a name.

A blank expanse of skin on the wrist invites judgement, whether kind or unkind. The lack of a name is a sign of bad luck in some places. In others, it is seen as the lack of empathy, the inability to feel.

And Talia – wrist undecorated with the name she wishes so fervently to bear – takes her son’s hand into her own, tracing the skin of his wrist – where a name would sit, had it been possible for their line. _A curse,_ they had said, _casted by the Devil onto those who dare to choose to pursuit eternity._

“They know not of what they speak of,” she tells him, voice a quiet murmur as she presses their forehead together, “A curse is a curse until you make use of it, and a blessing is a blessing until it is the only thing you rely on.”

* * *

The name that sits on her father’s wrist is her mother’s and the name that lies on her mother’s is his. Never has there been a blank wrist in both side of their family.

A name on the wrist invites much celebration and joy. In some places, it is a sign of good fortune. In others, it is seen as proof that fate has smiled on them.

And Sabine – wrist decorated with her husband’s name in his writing, clumsy and jumbled together – takes her daughter’s hand into her own, passing her thumb over her wrist – the very same place that a name would be on. _A tragedy,_ they had said, _that such an adorable girl would bear no name on her skin, ill-fated for felicity._

“Do not listen to them,” she hisses, acidity in her tone as she caresses the chubby cheek of her daughter’s, “There is no shame in not having a fated ending; and as fate has decreed, the very world is your oyster, sweetheart.”

* * *

The first time they meet, there is no itch at their wrist. No looped red string fades into existence. No searing pain that burns the sensitive skin just above their artery.

There is, however, a quirk of the lips. A challenging light exchanged, a daring tilt of the chin.

“A match made in hell,” says Alya as she plops down in the seat in front of her, the screen of her phone bright with the latest article about the meeting, “Everyone is going crazy about you and that boy.”

“He’s a man already, Alya,” she sighs, shaking her head, exasperated at her friend’s teasing tone, “And it is not like I’m so eager to jump into a relationship; especially one with _him_.”

“Oh yes,” Alya does not care to swallow down the snort, “What is it called again? A mutually beneficial arrangement?”

He is twenty-one and she is twenty-three. He is in a power struggle in the empire that his forefathers built and she is stumbling over her feet in this vast world of fashion.

He needs an extra set of eyes and ears – an underestimated scout for information to thwart his opposers and whatever nefarious plans they might come up to usurp his place as the heir. She needs credibility, money, more than what she is comfortable receiving from Jagged Stone – a patron to boast about her works and their quality to buoy her career up and spread her name across the globe.

“You know, ‘mutually beneficial arrangement’ are a whole lot of words for _sugar dating_ ,” Alya muses, locking her phone with a press of the button, “In this day and age, no one is going to judge you for having a sugar daddy.”

“He is younger than me!”

“Sugar baby, then.”

“Alya!”

* * *

_It is her wits that charms him: quick and sharp, cutting in the way that no one would have expected from such a sweet-voiced angel. Creativity sings in each and every of her works, breathtaking in their beauty and sublime in their use._

_The artist in him crows in victory at snagging such a talent to himself. The other part, concealed behind too polite scowls and tempered daggers and pressed suits, marvels at how she dances around his Father with helpful smiles and earnest grins and charms his Mother with her daring nerves and keen eyes._

* * *

The first time they go out on a supposed date, the world holds their collective breath. Every camera turns to them, every report flock outside of the homey diner that Dupain-Cheng chose.

It is a tiny place just a half-an-hour drive from the humble patisserie that she calls her home. An insignificant place, not where one would expect Damian Wayne to dine at.

And yet, the vultures somehow found out and ten minutes after they has settled down, he spots the glint of a lens just outside of the diner. Three minutes after, a supposed couple enters the diner, their phones angle toward them, as if the word “subtlety” is not in their vocabulary.

“Dami,” his mother’s voice crackles through the speaker, a slow, dangerous drawl, “I heard you have taken fancy to an aspiring designer.”

“It is nice to hear from you again, Mother,” he says, already feeling a headache coming, “And no, Ms. Dupain-Cheng is… an investment.”

She is twenty-three and he is twenty-one. She has a dream and the determination to reach the top and he has been preparing all his life to be the heir worthy of the legacy left behind by his forbearers.

She plays the role of a wide-eyed newcomer too well – with a bat of her eyelashes, the beginning of a pout, a tilt of her head and men and women fall over themselves to offer up precious incorporate information. In return, he poses as her muse, giving feedback and occasionally modeling to advertise her creations – the Wayne name is powerful even outside of Gotham, enough to buoy her brand name up and spread it far and wide.

“Ah, yes, what did you call it again?” his mother drawls, something like delight sparkling at the edge of her tone, “A mutually beneficial arrangement, is it not?”

“Mother, please…”

“I heard those so-called ‘mutually beneficial arrangements’ are, as your peers say, ‘the rage’ these days.”

“Mother, stop, please…”

* * *

_It is his contrary that intrigues her: how an arrogant twist of the lips turns into a kind smile, soft in the way no one would expect from the notoriously stern executive. Behind the ruthlessness that earns him many and more enemies lies the bleeding heart of a romantic that unknowingly charms a flock of assorted allies to his causes._

_The designer in her delights in the images of him modelling in her colors, bearing her brand. The other part, one that still believes in fairy tales and the best in the worst, coos over the little bits and pieces of kindness in the steady, warm hands that speak of compassion behind the haughty front._

* * *

The first scandal they face together as partners is deliberately caused by one of Damian’s competitors. It takes only a blurry photo for the public to whisper their speculations, and in some cases, turn against Marinette.

There is nothing wrong with the photo itself. That is, if one has the correct context for what was happening.

Unfortunately, the one who took that photo left it out, as per their client’s request.

“You should stay with that boy, dear,” Sabine speaks through the phone, irritation colors her tone, “It would be hard for you to return.”

Marinette can read through the lines: the almost vexation in her mother’s voice, the almost inaudible shouting coming through the phone. Regardless of the teasing of her friends, Marinette can, sometimes, be good at reading through the lines but this time, she does not need to do so – not when the news is all broadcasting the mob forming just outside her home.

“Are you sure, Mama?” she asks, picking at the edge of her skirt, “I can find a way to be back.”

“No, dear,” her mother grunts, seemingly picking something heavy up, “Stay close to that boy. Don’t be alone, ‘kay? Papa and Mama will be fine.”

Damian takes her hands into his own the moment she flops down next to him on the bed. Lacing their fingers together, he leans close, pressing his forehead against hers.

“Do not fear,” he murmurs, quiet and calm even when she can feel the trembles in his hands, “This will blow over soon.”

“Will it?” she shoots back, blinking away the bitter tears gathering at the corner of her eyes, “All I did was having a good day with Luka and suddenly everyone is accusing me of infidelity.”

“Trust me,” Damian mumbles, a thumb brushing over her blank wrist, “Everything will be fine.”

The hand that cups her chin is careful. The thumb that brushes away her tear is gentle.

And Marinette wonders when was it that her heart started to flutter at this soft side of his…

* * *

_Marinette is sleeping soundly in his bed, hugging the stuffed Nightwing that Richard gave him a long time ago to her chest. She is curled up in a tiny ball, burying herself in the soft sheets, tear tracks still visible on her face._

_Why was it that his heart felt heavy at the sight of her tears?_

* * *

The first time they meet each other’s alter ego, it is when everything around them is going up in proverbial flames. A battle is drawing closer and closer each second and both of Marinette’s hands are shaking from adrenaline and Damian’s shoulders are rigid with tension.

“I must insist that you leave the premise immediately,” she repeats, not conceding even half a step, “This does not concern you people.”

Parisian heroes, old and new, form a semi-circle with Ladybug as their center. Their leader is standing in front of them, back straight and chin up and her hands are fisted by her side and her eyes are glaciers.

“Do not be absurd,” Robin spits, casting a condescending eye over the group behind her, “You are an utter fool to think that your ragtags can hold a candle to the rampaging monstrosity.”

“That so-called ‘rampaging monstrosity’ is the creation of our injured companion,” she hisses back, taking half a step forward, “As such, it is our responsibility to subdue it and rescue our friend.”

“Then you should leave it to us,” scoffs Robin, taking one step toward until their bodies are almost touching, “We have experiences dealing with these situations while you would only-“

Whatever he wants to say is cut short when Ladybug slams a hand over his mouth. Fisting a hand in his collar, she drags him toward until their foreheads are touching; the hushed gasps behind them are but background noises.

“Trust me,” she fills the silence with a heart-filled sigh, “I will come back to you.”

“Is that a promise?” he asks, after she draws away, hand finding her wrist and holds on.

“Yes,” she nods, “Wait for me?”

* * *

_He is already sprinting toward her when she steps out of the very same portal that they walked through to get to this deserted area. She opens her arms almost instinctually, and he crashes into her embrace and they both collapse into a pile of tangled limbs._

_“Hey,” she laughs, tired yet full of light, “I’m back.”_

_“I’ve been waiting…"_

* * *

There are much talks about those who do not have a destined partner. Rarely are they anything other than superstitions and ignorance.

When news broke that Damian Wayne and Marinette Dupain-Cheng are now in an engagement, out of the woods comes trouble.

As they are both public figures, Damian has his fans and Marinette has hers and they war. Most of the fights take place on the internet but both Damian and Marinette’s official accounts has to be locked down for some time to stop the ridiculous amount of hatred thrown their way.

Most of the fights are about whether they deserve each other. Some of the more zealous of Damian’s fans think little of Marinette, that she is nothing but someone he takes pity on. On the other hand, some of Marinette’s aggressive fans criticizes Damian and his gruff demeanor, fearing that he is playing with Marinette’s heart.

And then, there is the third side: those who harbor ill-thoughts for either one of them or both of them and snorting that _“only an unnamed can stand an unnamed”._ Which, of course, sparks a campaign about the discrimination against the ten-percent that does not have a name on their wrist.

It is such a chaotic mess that both of their PR teams spend their breaks venting and ranting about _“bigots who think they have a say in who people love”._

Their friend and families, on the other hand, heaps lots and lots of support on them. Many meetings between friends and families are scheduled – a form of support that Alfred, Damian’s pseudo-grandfather, suggested.

“Man, they really went there,” Maps wrinkles her nose at the bi-monthly get-together of what they dubbed as the _‘Daminette Club’_ , “Ew, that is so fucking mean.”

From what she has heard from Alya, Maps made the club because she was, and Alya quoted, _“tired of seeing those two idiots dancing around each other”._ It started out with Maps and Alya, who met through Marinette and Damian, before it, quoted Maps, _“blossomed into the glorious fan club that is it today”._

To be honest, it is more of a support group than a fan club with how they operate. Damian mentioned it once, while scowling horribly when they just discovered the existence of such group.

“Well, aren’t fans people who express admiration for someone?” Maps had asked, head tilted to the side with a faint pout, “All of us admire either you or Marinette and we all wish for you to find happiness.”

“And what if that happiness does not include us being together?” is what Marinette had asked.

“Then this will become your support system,” Maps had shrugged but her voice was all business-liked serious, “Whatever you two decide, we will back you up.”

And true to their words, they are enthusiastically congratulating both Damian and Marinette on their engagement when the whole world rages just outside of their proverbial door.

* * *

_A year and a half later finds them cuddling in their bed, matching silver rings adorn their fingers._

**Author's Note:**

> This is a bit short. And all over the place...
> 
> In my defense, December is one heck of a month.


End file.
